


Collision

by savaged



Category: Electronic Dance Music RPF, Justice (Band)
Genre: Drunkenness, French Kissing, M/M, Partnership, crowd surfing y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 04:46:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3106562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savaged/pseuds/savaged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(not)an AU, where Justice becomes world-widely known for massive shows and orgasmic music. Gaspard's a chick magnet. Xavier spaces out a lot and falls for it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Collision

**Author's Note:**

> so I wrote this a long time ago and thought I'd share

 

He fell quiet; safe into the old man's glare. Xavier's father has always been this kind of absent figure that came in and out of scene whenever he pleased, along his caring mother who called every week to know about his 'American voyage' and how the people were in the occidental continent -much or less different than the one back home. Xavier would then reply they were crazily grateful and loving, gifting them chocolates, CDs, letters, collars, bras, stuffed animals... When in reality, the people in each state regarding them down as they checked the stage for the show treated them like sad politicians with no sex life and lack of sleep. They usually yelled and made them sign papers before and after tour dates for no explained reasons and fuck them up minutes before the show, which would translate to arriving mad to play the songs and be a notch up pissed off, more than what they were, under pressure and nervous about their performance.

In the overall, chicks and dudes from the crowd holla'd. They were pretty fucking cool.

Gaspard told him to relax taking a glass of scotch. The bearded-man was getting half wasted at every moment and the only time alcohol didn't override his body was at morning, when hangover knocked the door down and his hair was so messy his eyes wouldn't be seen. So he wore the infamous sunglasses, took pills and refused to talk. He let Xavier be the one catching up with journalists and talk show hosts, after all, he'd only open his mouth for the cutie pies and to help Xavier, sporadically, with his tangled english words due to a remaining french accent, and tour wasn't 'tour', it was more like _tougg_ for everyone he talked to. Gaspard would be quiet and listen to him with attention, glaring at a blank corner or peering the interviewer with a straight face. He shouldn't lie. He got turned on with Xavier's fucked up pronunciation and watching the later get red when phrases didn't come to his throat. _That_ troubled he was.

He offered some ice getting rejected, and a leather couch for Xavier to sit down when the outbursting mainstream of unspoken words of rage flooded the room. And so on, once his flat mate was done and drowned in his misery, Gaspard sipped from the glass the french had abandoned on the couch's arm nodding slowly, not making an observation.

Violet roses in the dirty water of a pot near the corner of the window, the curtains were slightly moved to a side letting the bright sun in. The little clouds of dust zigzagged in the air towards and away from them, the ones you try to catch with a fist but escape, metaphor related to the constant search of an inexistent reward -that, which Xavier couldn't get. Whatever that reward was, Gaspard slouched and looked at him.

"What will you tell him next? You don't have free days? Too stressed? You're doing too well with me in bed? That's it, I bet he's an homophobe."

Xavier just laughed, shrugging it off. "He wouldn't care. I'd appreciate if you stopped making those stupid jokes, people glare at us when you do it."

"Do what? You know it's true."

Xavier cracked a smile shaking his head 'no' as Gaspard poked his ribs. Goal achieved, he downed in a gulp the remaining of scotch in the glass and stood up. It was a nicely set routine; Xavier coming back from his parent's, discussing about all the shit they told him and then search for emotional comfort in Gaspard's words. Inside Gaspard's head, it didn't really wasn't that functional but somehow it soothed the mess inside Xavier for some time.

"Ready for tonight's gig, monsieur?"

Xavier shrugged nodding and zipped up his leather jacket looking away from his friend. Shit, how he hated this moments. Looking so vulnerable didn't help, despite having Gaspard at his side whenever he felt like it.

Gaspard had become kind of his lifeline since the stress and all this sentimental bullshit started. Gaspard was the tough guy, the serious guy; the dude who got all the chicks on their knees at backstage. A hero for the boys out there. Instead, Xavier pictured himself as the sentimental, little cry baby- more like the kind girls would tend to reject in average society if he wasn't the famous, rich music producer of elegant, messy France. Had he ever looked himself at the mirror to find something he liked about that image? Not a bit. Not almost ever. But having Gaspard at his side, he'd curve his lips into a smirk. Then put his jacket on and go on stage until late night made appearance.

Gaspard was more than a friend, a brother, a role-model, a counselor. A drunk-ass man, though, but at the last loyal (well, except the times he had called Xavier a wanker and told him to fuck off when the black-haired boy tried to wake him up to leave the hotel room, and they had been more times than Gaspard could count.) So it was no surprise for Xavier that whenever he and his friend were feeling up chicks, he'd get hard at the thought of Gaspard fucking someone on the other bed. Okay, not to say kinky stuff, he shrugged it off once he'd come and relax thinking of anything else that came to mind like, music and landscapes and pretty girls in Sunday's Mass dresses.

However, the queer feeling extended not only to fantasizing about Gaspard while beating off, but also at times like those- alone and lost, confused in a land far away from home, exhausted of being by his own in the dark with his thoughts for so many hours. Hearing the soft breathing of the man by his side, cradled by rest and dreams. Smelling of something clean when alcohol wasn't present, smelling of alcohol when he had refused to take a shower.

 

 

-

  
_Mon Dieu._ The blonde cutie at the entrance of the building offered them a bottle of champagne. 9pm, Xavier peered at his watch.

"Aye, guys!" fans called and cheered in the distance, digital cameras in hand, giant posters and white crosses that could almost blind them. Because of media, the mainstream and fate's will, they both evolved into something the industry couldn't have repeated. You know, the pop stars culture would be replaced, anyway, and what's best to move into something as new and 'fresh' like a couple of friends making music for millions of people? He smiled every time he saw demonstrations like that, just the thought of having so many guys and girls love them in a way that only music permitted was enough to wake up in the morning. And then again, the stress.

Gaspard could tell by a simple glance that his best friend was going through that emotional roller-coaster we all ride on, except he was traveling at the speed of light from under-the-sea's-level to above-the-skies peaks, and he feared that at any moment it'd be too much. Well, it was Xavier. He'd been dealing with it alone until some months ago. He could hold on a little more, couldn't he? And there was free Gin with Red Bull on that table aside their manager... Shit, he missed it.

"Eh, Xavier..."

"Oui?" he turned around suddenly straightening.

"Mind me going after you? I got some people to say hi to back there, I missed them. I'll go after the start."

There was a mourn written across Xavier's face. Then in a rush, a quick nod. "Ça va. Don't be late, ok?"

Gaspard smirked and waved a hand to go near the table with drinks abandoning him; his manager chatting with staff and a sweetie bent over showing off her fake-tanned legs. Just as he felt her up he sipped from the cans and bottles he found to be closed; a minute later he was spending his focus not only on getting wasted but getting laid, too. Right before the show. Just as he's used to. Xavier couldn't hide a deep, hard sigh.

"Fils de putain" he shook his head staring at the ground. His phone was buzzing in his pocket, the crew was calling him and making signals with their hands. Outside, the crowd roared. The lights were starting to blind them. The show had to begin.

"Hm? Did you say something?"

Their manager pulled Xavier onto the stage.

 

-.-

 

"We... We didn't really kiss the cross this time," Xavier stated matter-of-factly in the in-between, both lying against the wall next to the bathrooms in backstage.

Gaspard looked up to him and nodded. He didn't understand half of what the other was saying, but just leaned in and softly nibbled at Xavier's bottom lip. Xavier smiled and stepped back, saying "the cross, we need the cross."

Gaspard pulled the collar out of under his shirt and placed the golden cross on Xavier, hushing him. He then met right where it was, touching and licking the golden cross, grasping all of Xavier's attention into it.

"I'm really drunk, you know" the eldest stated hovering Xavier's mouth. The other could perfectly tell by the smell of alcohol.

"God, Gaspard" he got away, returning to stage. "It's always the same, isn't it."

Gaspard looked blankly at him, "what?"

"Congratulations on the mess you made of things."

"Fuck you, Xavier" Gaspard rushed and went past him, being the first to reappear on scene, getting on the knobs and wires of their DJ set.

The second part of the show started when the music did, and so on, they lost themselves in the high-pitches and drops of a remixed version of D.A.N.C.E. they had been working in for some weeks. The crowd went mad with it, and they did too, Gaspard a little bit dizzier than his friend, softly lying against the boards with a Speed can in hand.

He gazed past him and started strolling near the edge of the stage, teasing his balance and bending over to them, touching hands. Xavier only watched from his position and enjoyed the show of sweet strobe light blending with flash cameras. There were even TV cameras in the distance, streaming the show live for the kind dudes that couldn't come to the event, and Xavier sipped some more from his can until perceiving Gaspard's imminent fall.

The bearded man tripped, like the times you want to grab yourself from something and hold on to it but you just don't. Like when Xavier pulled from the cord of his cross collar, and despite that, he tripped, and his legs felt light as they flew in the air towards the sea of people beneath him, and his head landed on raised hands, hair-colored guys and hungry fangirls.

Thousands and thousands of kids dancing to the beat.

And so Xavier jumped, losing his drink and part of his dignity when a guy pulled at his belt and kept it away.

"GASPARD" he reached for the back of his leather jacket during the process of security swimming in. "The fuck!"

" _Aaaaaye_ " he answered, half-lidded eyes. "T's up?"

"Your fucking behavior, your... _Ce n'est pas posible!_ Je vous fait confiance! Je voulais vous faire comprendre mais-"

"No french here, sweetheart" Gaspard stopped him before the stream of impossibly fast french ended, letting himself be sucked down by a group of ravers with neon sunglasses. "We spoke about it."

" _Why_ do you do this to me?"

Security tugged them away by the arms, safely returning them to stage. Their glare spoke much louder than all those screaming boys and ladies in the crowd.

 

.-.-

 

An old tape recorder spun uselessly in front of them. The broken record repeated itself again and again, like a confession that hasn't been said enough times to be truly called it.

It's this old french song they'd known since they were in high school that they had for specific uses, like for when they didn't have their cellphones with them and needed something to listen to that wasn't themselves. They brought it to tours as part of the equipment, no wonder weird stares would be thrown at the ridiculously antique thing.

The only stare contest was present between them.

"Are you done? Can I talk now?" one said, and the other pushed the inside of his cheek with his tongue.

"What will you say?"

"Listen to me," Gaspard put his hand on Xavier's thigh and  the guy stiffened. Gaspard sighed, indifferent, and went on; "I love you like nobody else, alright? I love you like my brother, Xavier. You mean to me more than anything else, but... I was enjoying the party, man, I mean..." Gaspard smiled nonchalantly, drunkenness starting to appear in the red of his nose. "Understand."

 

"You're always drunk."

"Because I need something to drown the fact that we're partners, and one of us is slightly alcoholic and heads over heels for the other."

"Gaspard..."

" _Xavier_." Gaspard slouched and reached for the shorter man's hand. "I promise. When we get out of this thing?" He held his right index finger up and waved it around, "I'll be holding you and we'll be listening to _Beach House_. Until then," he played with Xavier's black locks and tucked them behind his ear, looking straight into his eyes, "just know that I love you. And I need you by my side, listening to my apologies. I'm mad in love with you, no matter what drunk Gaspard says or does. _Fais-toi confiánce_."

"No french–"

Gaspard pressed his lips against his best friend's; rough and slow, feeling Xavier's breath get shaky despite the moustache on his upper lip or the beard on his cheek. He pressed a little more and Xavier opened his mouth, letting him in.

The record still spun. Through the rest of the evening, even late-night.

A bunch of crazed fangirls and fanboys were sleeping outside, waiting for them to sign their stuff. They invited all of them out for breakfast. And in the end, none of them noticed or cared to point out the scratchs on the arms of Gaspard.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
